


Only a Moment

by Joy_in_the_House



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Exhaustion, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, James Wilson Needs a Hug, Overdosing, Sickfic, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_in_the_House/pseuds/Joy_in_the_House
Summary: It only takes a moment for a life to change. Sometimes just one, sometimes one leading into the next. He only knows he needs to see her, for only a moment.





	Only a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> For Whumptober 2019. Prompts #18- “Muffled Scream” & #22 “Hallucination”  
I'm sorry that I'm not sorry.

Those who look at him see the weight of Atlas on his shoulders. But they don't see the toll it takes.

They see a young man, only thirty-eight years old. By far he’s the youngest Head of Oncology at PPTH. But he doesn’t do it for the money, and certainly not for the recognition.

There are days that he – who is only human, after all – enjoys the attention. But more often than not, he finds it exhausting.

Even after a normal day of treating patients, board and department meetings, and everything else in between, he finds himself collapsing into his chair and just taking a moment in the solitude.

Days that he spends in his office on FDA reports, patient files, everything that allows him to not have to leave his office, he feels himself slow down and actually feel whole again.

Today was a day full of consults, meetings, angry family members demanding answers as to why their loved one was slowly dying. The combination of not sleeping well for weeks, lack of time for anything more than a couple of coffees and a granola bar, and the sheer stress is more than he can bear. He realises he’s forgotten to take the anti-depressants today.

He finally shuts himself into his office, turning the lock on an impulse.

He thinks about sitting down but changes his tack to the balcony, snagging the bottle of anti-depressants and pocketing them. He shoves aside the glass door, finding himself buffeted by the cool wind that is New Jersey in October.

He leans on the railing, resting his head on the cool metal. The cold seeps through his skin, taking an edge off his headache. As he feels himself shiver, he lowers himself down so he’s sitting on the concrete, leaning on the railing.

Everything hurts, his head, his back, his heart.

Why does everything hurt?

Pain is the way the universe screams for our attention. It takes and takes and takes, until it gives nothing in return. It’s nothing but insistent. Some people live with it, some people try to muffle it, like House with Vicodin.

Wilson isn’t sure whether it’s the cold or the sheer numbness in himself that is making him so delightfully scrambled. He decides he doesn’t care.

He pulls the anti-depressants from his pocket, rolling the nearly full bottle around in his hand. The pills rattle, and he sighs.

He knows that he should take them. The way he feels now is a perfectly clear indicator of that. And yet….

He shoves the pills back in his pocket.

They can wait.

He checks his watch, tilting it to catch the fading daylight. 9 p.m.

He lets his head fall back on the railing, feeling the small clang of the metal on the back of his head.

His headache only grows. He glances at his watch once more.

No one will know, it’ll only be a moment.

He lets his eyes close, sighing with relief at the darkness. The light is no longer burning his retinas, sending pain further into his head.

His eyes snap open and there’s Amber. She’s sitting on the ground opposite him, and he chances a smile at the woman. Her lips turn up in the funny quirk of a smile she always does.

She looks nothing less than beautiful.

“James, take your meds,” she whispers, and under the gaze of this woman, he can’t help but obey.

He fishes them from his pocket once more, and rattles two into his palm. He swallows them dry, looking to her for approval.

She smiles, and his eyes close.

His eyes open again, and there she is.

“James, your meds.”

Didn’t he take them already? He must not have.

He shakes two into his palm, swallowing them dry. He looks at her, and there’s that beautiful smile. He smiles back as his heavy eyes slip shut.

“James.”

His brown eyes are hazy when they flicker open, but she’s there.

Something isn’t right.

She’s closer. She’s in front of him now.

“James, your meds. You need to take them.”

She’s right. She always is. She remembers what he never does.

He shakes the two pills into her hand and dry swallows them, encouraged by Amber’s soft smile.

He doesn’t even notice his eyes closing again.

It’s with a jerk and a gasp his eyes open once more. He has to do something, he’s forgotten to do something, he knows it.

“James.” He looks up to see Amber kneeling over him. Why is she taller?

He stares at her worried face, then reaches up to her. His hand isn’t working properly. He can’t move it properly.

Amber’s worried. He can see it in the way her eyes crease, the way her mouth is pressed into a thin line.

He’s laying on the ground, he realises with a jolt. He looks up at her, trying to figure why she’s worried.

His mouth goes dry when he sees a trickle of blood inching down her forehead.

He tries to tell her, but his mouth won’t work, the words come out as gibberish.

He’s cold. He’s laying on the concrete, and the cold is seeping into his bones. He’s stiff and couldn’t sit up if he tried.

He looks back at Amber, and one side of her face is covered in blood, dripping down onto her coat. It’s the same hue as her scarf.

“James, wake up.”

He is awake. But he stares at the blood on her face, recoiling in horror as he sees her pale. He blinks, and she’s in a hospital gown, the horrible paper gowns that did nothing for anybody.

She’s hooked up to a monitor, and he doesn’t understand, how did he get inside? How did she change so fast?

“Jimmy, look at me!”

He’s looking. He feels sick. Why does she look half-dead?

“Am….” He croaks, his mouth still not working.

Amber stares at him, still worried.

“Jimmy, wake up now,” she demands.

He is awake. His head is pounding. Why is he so upset?

He shoves his hands over his mouth to muffle the scream that comes out as Amber’s eyes close, the monitor announcing asystole.

“Jimmy, listen, you need to snap out of it!”

There’s hands on his shoulders, and he tries to wrench himself away. Another wail bursts out of his mouth as the hands pin him to the concrete.

“Wilson, you need to stop fighting us!”

“Let go of me,” he whimpers through the cotton fogging his brain. “Let go, let go, let go,” he chants as he curls up as best as his stiff muscles will allow.

A stinging blow to his cheek snaps his eyes open with a scream and he’s faced with House’s outright concerned face. He stares at House, his chest heaving, before his eyes start roving wildly, searching for Amber. She was gone, where was she? She was somewhere.

He feels sick and was interrupted by a flash of bright light searing his eyes. He moves his head and the light remains. He turns his head again and finds he could no longer move.

“House….” He whimpers as the man’s face came into view, his eyes now flicking to Taub and Thirteen, who look just about as anxious as House.

His eyes dart between them all before he catches sight of Amber, standing over Thirteen’s shoulder and he flashes her a smile. Thirteen gives a tentative wave back, thinking he’s looking at her.

Wilson’s eyes are locked on Amber alone, and he gives another wistful smile, unable to move, but she was there. She was okay.

His mouth is dry once more, and his smile drops. She wasn’t there. Where is she? 

She reappears beside him, her hand reaching to stroke his face.

“Get him up,” he hears House’s voice. He hears it but it could be Greek for all he’s aware.

He knows that’s not good; something is wrong.

Someone is holding him, and he’s moving. He loses sight of Amber and he screams again. Somehow, he knows she’s gone, he just knows, he won’t see her again, and he needs to. He needs to find her. He can’t let go of her again.

He blinks and he’s laying on a gurney, strapped down like a common psych patient.

He whimpers once, cowed by the restraints before he remembers Amber.

He has to find her.

He fights against the straps on his wrists and feet, fighting, kicking, screaming, crying, and he tries to shake off the hand that’s on his arm.

Someone frees his wrist, and in relief he jerks it, and feels it connect with something. He tries to sit up, and rolls himself off the other side, right into the arms of…. Someone.

He stops fighting.

The person holds onto him, shouting at the others to take off the restraints.

Wilson sobs in relief when he’s free, and he can’t fight anymore.

The man – Kutner, he now recognizes – holds him steady, using a hand to search for a pulse. Wilson lets him.

Because now he knows.

Amber’s gone.

He remembers what happened.

He looks at Kutner, and then freezes.

Kutner frowns back.

“Dr. Wilson, you with us?”

Wilson doesn’t speak, his mouth won’t work, but everything is screaming in his to tell Kutner that he feels sick, his eyes aren’t working.

And then he sees gray.

He’s not sure how long it lasts, but he blinks, and the mist begins to clear.

He’s on the floor.

House is there, Kutner beside him. Kutner is doing something.

Taub is also there.

House’s hand is holding Wilson’s, and he’s saying something.

He’s so tired.

“Wilson.”

He blinks owlishly at House.

“Wilson, can you hear me?” House sounds almost worried, Wilson decides.

He nods once, too tired to do anything else.

House relaxes, just a bit.

“You seized,” he explains slowly. “What were you thinking?”

Wilson’s head swims at the notion of thinking.

He’s not sure what House means.

Kutner shoves House aside.

“Dr. Wilson.” His voice is quiet and gentle, and Wilson almost cries in gratitude.

“Dr. Wilson, what did you take?”

Wilson stares at him before blinking again.

Kutner shakes his head, mouth moving.

He shines a light into Wilson’s eyes, and this time he’s too tired to fight it.

Taub moves into his field of vision, shooing Kutner away.

He sends Wilson a gentle smile.

“We’ve got you,” is all he says, and Wilson does cry.

“You OD’d on your Prozac,” Taub prompts and Wilson nods, tears still running down his cheeks and oh, he’s ashamed of it but he doesn’t care anymore.

Taub looks satisfied with Wilson’s acknowledgment, and waves someone over.

As he’s lifted onto a gurney, he catches House’s eye, and the man slowly comes to his side. Wilson feels House grip his hand and it’s so tight it hurts, but he squeezes back. This is the sentiment House expresses. This is enough.

Kutner walks beside House, pushing the gurney with Thirteen, and Taub busies himself at Wilson’s side, checking on him and monitoring him.

He catches Wilson’s eye and smiles gently.

“We’ve got you,” he says again, and Wilson nods.

“Thank you,” he rasps and Taub nods.

He looks at House next, and says nothing more than a hard squeeze of the man’s hand, and the answering squeeze is all he needs to know he’s safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This caused physical pain to write, yet I enjoyed it. Present tense is hard, like darn wow.  
We see some of Wilson's character in the show, especially in the end of Wilson's Heart. I wanted to touch on some of the desperate loss that we knew he still felt.


End file.
